


Coast to Coast With Raistlin Majere

by semperaugustus



Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: Dalamar will show up eventually, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4809320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperaugustus/pseuds/semperaugustus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MIT is Raistlin Majere's ticket out of Solace, Orgeon - the most boring place in America. But nothing is ever simple when the Majeres are involved, and a simple college visit becomes a brother-sister road trip of epic proportions.  AU, crossposted from tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The front door slams. Raistlin pauses, looking up from his homework. He hears two thuds, the sound of heavy boots being kicked off with no care for where they land: Kitiara.

He rolls his eyes and turns back to his Bio notes. The floorboards creak as Kitiara walks through the front hall and into the kitchen.

Raistlin, eyes fixed on his work, feels her pass by his seat at the table on her way to the fridge. He doesn’t bother to greet her.

Kit opens the fridge; Raistlin hears the pop and hiss of a can being opened. The noises are small but they annoy him anyway, probably because it’s Kit making them.

“Good news, little bro.”

Raistlin sighs and looks up at his sister. She’s leaning on the countertop, a can of Budweiser in her hand. She’s also smiling, which is never a good sign.

“What is it?” he says, suspicious. He and Kit don’t talk to each other much, which is probably for the best; they just end up snarling at each other when they try, even with Caramon there to act as peacemaker. 

“You still want to do that MIT visit, right?” Kit asks, cocking an eyebrow at him. She’s still wearing her driving sunglasses, mirrored aviators that hide her eyes, and they make her expression hard to read; Raistlin squints at her, wondering if he’s missed some sort of joke.

“I asked you about that months ago,” he says. 

“I know that,” Kit says, and although he can’t be sure, he thinks she’s rolling her eyes at him behind the glasses. “And I’m asking you now if you still want to go.”

For a second he’s tempted to say no, just to spite her, but his common sense wins out: he does want to go, so much so that he’s been saving his money for months in the vain hope that he can scrape up enough for a plane ticket. The Majeres don’t really have money for that kind of thing, though - even Kit’s bizarrely successful career as a bounty hunter just barely keeps them fed and clothed.

“Yes,” he says, trying not to sound too hopeful. “Of course.”

“Then you’re going!” Kit says, wiggling her eyebrows at him from over the tops of her glasses. “This weekend." 

Raistlin blinks at her, dumb with surprise.

"Well?” Kit says, holding out her arms. “What do you say?”

“Are you serious?” Raistlin snaps back at her. The grin on Kit’s face disappears, replaced by a scowl.

“What the hell do you mean, am I serious? From where I’m standing, I’m doing you a big favor, you little snot–”

“This weekend!” Raistlin shoots back, standing up from the table. “I'm busy this weekend, Kit! I know you might have forgotten - I’ve only mentioned it a hundred times or so - ”

“What?” Kit said, “The debate tournament? Seriously? That's what you’re worried about?”

Raistlin slams his Bio textbook shut, perhaps harder than necessary - the crack of itechoes through the small kitchen. Kit doesn’t flinch.

“I know the concept may not be familiar to you, Kit,” Raistlin says, his voice taut with anger, “but there’s at least one Majere who does bother to take his academic life seriously.”

“Oh my gooood,” Kit groans. “Really, dude? Can we go ten minutes in this fucking house without you spouting out some kind of self-righteous bullshit? Please, little bro, remind me again of how much smarter and better you are than the rest of us…”

“You're the one who keeps telling me get into a good school!” Raistlin says. “Of course, you wouldn’t know the first thing about that, so maybe I shouldn’t be surprised,” he adds with a sneer. 

“Oh, sorry,” Kit says. “Sorry I dropped out of school to take care of your ungrateful ass. Didn’t mean to embarrass you there, little bro." 

She tosses her empty beer can in the sink and takes a step toward him, her body tense with anger. They stare at each other over the kitchen table for several long moments. Their faces, usually so dissimilar, are contorted into near-identical expressions of fury. 

Raistlin knows Kit won’t actually hit him, but he curses himself anyway. What does he care about the debate tournament? He’d take MIT over the tournament a thousand times over. It was just…it infuriated him, the way Kit always swaggered in and took charge of his life, as though he didn’t have so much as a say in the matter.

He knows he should apologize, take Kit up on her offer - which is generous, for her - but his pride, his stupid pride, stops his tongue and leaves him glaring at his sister, fists clenched at his sides.

"Well,” Kitiara says, sounding as pissed as she ever has, “If that’s really how you feel, little bro - ”

Out in the hall, the front door slams again, and Kitiara stops talking.

Caramon’s cheerful voice echoes through their apartment. “Raist? Kit? You guys home? I heard you…”

He trails off when he passes through the kitchen doorway and sees his siblings facing off over the kitchen table. “Whoa,” he says. “Everything OK?”

Caramon’s presence is like a pin in a balloon; Raistlin feels all the fight go out of him, and Kitiara simply shrugs and steps away from the table. 

“Yes, my brother,” Raistlin says. “Everything is fine.”

Caramon looks hard at the both of them. “Well, OK,” he says. His face is flushed, his hair sticking damply to his forehead: he looks like he’s walked all the way home from football practice. 

“Shit,” Kit says. She’s also looking at Caramon. “I was supposed to give you a ride, huh?”

“Yeah,” Caramon says, shrugging. “Don’t worry about it, Kit. No big deal.”

Caramon walks over to the fridge and starts rooting around for a snack. Behind his back, Raistlin looks over at Kit again. She’s looking back at him already.

He can’t quite bring himself to ask if all is forgiven, but he shoots her a questioning look. Kit stares back at him for a second, and then raises one shoulder in a shrug of acquiescence. 

With that, the fight is over as quickly as it had begun.

Raistlin sits back down at the table and lets Caramon’s usual chatter wash over him: football practice, pretty girls, meeting Tanis on the way home. 

It looks like he’s going to MIT after all.


	2. Chapter 2

The week drags on as slowly as ever, but for once, Raistlin has something to look forward to: MIT. The light at the end of the tunnel. 

He knows it’s stupid, but he can’t stop daydreaming about this weekend. He’s going to be on his own in Cambridge, free of Caramon and Kitiara and their interminable friends, thousands of miles away from Solace. It seems almost too incredible to believe: he hasn’t been outside of Oregon since his parents moved them there from the South, nearly thirteen years ago.

He finds himself hardly paying attention in class, and when he’s called on in Calc on Tuesday, he doesn’t even know what unit they’re on, much less the answer to the question. It’s so uncharacteristic that his teacher pulls him aside afterward, asks if he’s having any trouble at home or from the other students. He almost laughs: for once, there could be nothing farther from the truth.

There’s one thing still bothering him, though, and unsurprisingly, it’s Kitiara. She’s reassured him over and over that yes, he’s still going to MIT, that yes, it’s still this weekend, that he has nothing to worry about. But for all her promises, she has yet to tell him how he’s getting there, or even when he’s supposed to leave. At this point, he can guess that she’s up to something - he just doesn’t know what it is. 

It’s Friday afternoon, and Raistlin stays late to tutor some of the students from his Calc class. He hates teaching, and they hate him, but he’s the top of the class and tutoring’s easy money. 

Caramon meets him at the doors of the school when he’s finished, fresh from football practice. The Solace team is playing one of the last games of the season tomorrow, and Caramon is giddy with excitement.

Raistlin couldn’t care less about the game, of course, but MIT still has him in a good mood, so he throws Caramon a bone and lets his brother babble on about all things football as they wait for Kit to pick them up.

He’s close to dozing off, desperate to escape Caramon’s account of the Haven High running back who blew out his ACL last week, when Kit finally pulls up. Her truck - an old, mud-spattered red pickup - draws curious looks from the other students waiting for their parents, in part because Kit’s blasting “Free Bird” from the truck’s tinny old speakers.

Raistlin hunches his shoulders and glares at Kit as she draws even with them. 

“Do you always have to do this?” he hisses at her.

“Can’t hear you, little bro!” Kit shouts over the music. “Get in the truck!”

Raistlin scowls at her, but he follows his brother around to the passenger side of the pickup. Caramon opens the door and slides onto the truck’s single bench seat; Raislin follows him, sighing in frustration when he closes the door and immediately finds himself pinned between Caramon’s broad shoulders and the window.

“Sorry, Raist,” Caramon says, trying to twist away from his brother with limited success. 

Kit reaches out and dials down the volume, until the music is merely very loud instead of deafening. “Hey, kids!” she says brightly. 

Raistlin leans across Caramon and hits the power button on the stereo. The car is suddenly, blessedly silent. “Hey!” Kit says, and slaps his hand away. “What the hell?”

“You’re making us look like hicks," Raistlin snaps. He sits back and folds his arms across his chest, elbowing Caramon sharply in the ribs in the process. 

"Ow,” Caramon says, “Guys, let’s just drive, okay?”

Kit snaps her mouth shut on an angry rebuttal and shifts the truck into first, pulling out of the school lot and onto the main road. 

It takes Caramon about ten seconds to start talking about football again and Raistlin and Kit, in a moment of truce, exchange a wry look as Caramon runs through next week’s plays in excruciating detail. 

They pull up in front of their apartment building - a drab, brown brick building surrounded by trees - and Kit throws the truck into park with a jolt. 

Instead of getting out of the car, though, she just sits there, staring up at the apartments with a frown.

“I don’t feel like cooking,” she says at last, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “Last Home for dinner?”

“Yeah!” Caramon says. “That sounds great.” He turns to his brother. “Raist, what do you think?”

Raistlin shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says. “I’m not that hungry." 

"Surprise, surprise,” Kit says. “Last Home it is." 

She pulls the truck out of the apartment lot and turns back onto the main road, headed for the center of town.

"Hey, little bro,” Kit says, not bothering to look in their direction.

Caramon and Raistlin exchange a look. “Me or him?” Caramon asks.

“Raistlin,” Kit says. “Anyway, look, I figured we’d head out tomorrow morning. You packed yet?”

“What?” Raistlin says, caught off guard. “No. I’ll -” He pauses for a moment, eyes widening. 

“What do you mean, ‘we’?" he says. There’s a bad feeling taking root in his stomach.

"Haha, right,” Kit says. “Nice catch. Well, you see, little bro…Raistlin…”

“Oh, no,” Raistlin says, numb with horror. 

“…we’re going to be traveling together, you and me. See, I’ve got some business over in Boston, and I figured, well, if I’m going, might as well let Raistlin tag along and see this school he’s so excited about…”

“You couldn’t tell me this before?” Raistlin says, his voice tight with anger. In his mind’s eye, he watches his weekend of freedom in Cambridge - his escape - wither. 

“I was figuring some stuff out,” Kit says, shrugging. “My boss was gonna comp me the plane ticket out East, but he wouldn’t spring for two, so I had to change the plan a little…only finished hashing everything out today." 

Raistlin glares at her. It’s not very satisfying - her eyes are fixed on the road.

"If you really consider that an explanation for-" 

Caramon, who’s stayed silent up til now, cuts him off. "Hey, whoa, guys,” he says, leaning forward. “Raist, Kit shoulda told you what she was planning before today…”

Kit rolls her eyes.

“…but it’s not a big deal, Raist, right? I’m sure Kit’ll be busy with her stuff when you guys are in Massachusetts…won’t you, Kit?” He gives his sister a hard look.

“Yup,” Kit says. “I figured I’d just drop you off at MIT, little bro. No need to get your panties all twisted up." 

Raistlin scowls at her, but Kit’s words do take a weight off his chest. 

"Yeah,” Kit says. “Just a couple days with me, and you’ll be free to go.”

There’s a pause, then Caramon - very softly- lets out a groan of frustration.

“What.” Raistlin says, not bothering to phrase it as a question. 

“Yeah, looks like we’re roadtrippin’ it,” Kit says, shrugging. “Driving is way cheaper than a plane ticket, even with the gas money. This thing gets great mileage - " 

"I’m not going,” Raistlin says. 

“Oh, are you fuckin' serious?” Kit groans, and slams the edge of the steering wheel with her palm. “Of course you are,” she says. “Typical Raistlin Majere. Ask you to spend a little time with your family, suddenly you’d rather hurl yourself off a cliff - ”

“Ask?" Raistlin fires back. "You didn't ask me to do anything, sister dearest. Although even if you had, I couldn’t think of a worse -”

“Hey,” Caramon says loudly, “We’re here!”

The Last Home looms ahead of them, an old wooden building rising out of the trees to their left. Raistlin sees Tanis and Flint waving at them from the porch.

“Oh, good,” he says. “It’s a party.”

Kitiara turns into the Last Home’s lot and parks the truck, her movements sharp with anger. When they’re parked, she turns toward Raistlin, a sneer on her lips. 

“Guys,” Caramon says. Kit and Raistlin turn their eyes away from one another and onto him, expectant.

“Maybe you guys could take dinner to cool down?” he says. He places one hand on Kit’s arm and another on Raistlin’s, and gives the both of them a pleading look. “Tanis and Flint are waiting for us, you don’t want to get into it in front of them…You can figure everything out after, right?" 

They both stare at him for a second - two pairs of hard, angry eyes. Caramon does his best to smile.

"Yeah, yeah, okay,” Kit finally says. “After dinner. We’ll talk.”

She opens her door and hops out of the truck, landing light-footed on the ground. Caramon moves to follow her, but then turns back to Raistlin, who’s sitting hunched and furious against the window.

“Come on, Raist,” Caramon says. “It’s worth it, right? For MIT?”

Raistlin turns to look at his brother. “What would you know about it?” he says, and watches Caramon flinch. 

Guilt and vicious satisfaction seize him in equal measures, and he twists away from Caramon before he has the chance to regret his words, wrenching open the passenger door and sliding out to join the others. 

Caramon follows behind him, as ever.


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday morning dawns cool and rainy - typical weather for springtime in Oregon. Raistlin rises with the sun. All told, he’s gotten maybe four hours of sleep, having spent the night tossing and turning with anticipation.

Kitiara, of course, is still in bed when he wakes up. Raistlin is tempted to knock on her door and rouse her, but Kit is about as far from a morning person as it’s possible to get, and Raistlin figures there’ll be enough opportunities for them to scream at each other during this trip as it is without inviting an extra one. Instead, he spends an hour packing and re-packing to kill time, even though his clothes and toiletries together barely fill a suitcase. 

On the other side of the bedroom, the still-sleeping Caramon barely stirs. Raistlin, ever the insomniac, has always envied his brother’s ability to sleep undisturbed through the night. 

At seven, Raistlin goes out to the kitchen and sets a pot of coffee to brew while he fries up bacon and eggs at the stove. The smell summons first Caramon and then Kit, both of them stumbling blearily down the hall to sit at the table while Raistlin maneuvers eggs and bacon onto two plates. He pours himself a bowl of cereal.

“Thanks, Raist,” Caramon says to him. “Is the coffee ready?”

“Pour me a cup,” Kit mutters, her voice fuzzy. She has her arms propped on the table and is resting her head on the crook of one elbow. 

Caramon handles the coffee and Raistlin sits down to his cereal. It’s tasteless, shredded wheat and skim milk, but heavy breakfasts have never sat well with him. 

Kit drains her first cup of coffee before she even touches her food, and Caramon eats what must be half a package of bacon in the same span of time. It’s enough to give Raistlin sympathetic indigestion. 

“So,” Kit says, midway through her second cup of coffee, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” Raistlin says. He bites off the I was ready an hour ago that would usually come next. 

“Cool,” Kit says. “I’m all packed up. We’ll drop Caramon off at practice and head out.”

Raistlin is surprised for a second. He’d fully expected to be waiting around for Kit for hours, has already resigned himself to it. But of course, this trip was business for Kit: she was probably on a tight schedule. 

“You guys are leaving that soon?” Caramon asks.

“Well, yeah, who leaves for a road trip in the middle of the day?” Kit says, rolling her eyes. 

“But you haven’t told me what I’m supposed to do all week!” Caramon says, nervous. “Will I have to get groceries, or pay bills, or…or whatever?”

Kit snorts. “I’m gone all the time, Caramon,” she says. “You know the drill by now. Bills are paid, food’s in the fridge, Tanis will pick you up from practice all week. Hell, he says you can stay with him and Flint if you want.”

“Oh,” Caramon says. “Uh…right.” He doesn’t sound that relieved, and when he turns to look over at his brother, Raistlin tenses. He can guess at what’s coming.

“Raist…are you sure you don’t wanna just stay home? I know MIT’s a big deal, but you’re gonna miss a whole week of school, you’re gonna be on the other side of the country…wouldn’t you rather stay here and take it easy?”

“I would not,” Raistlin says acidly, anger flaring in his chest. “I don’t care about school. I would miss a month of school if it meant I could get out of Solace! Just because you’re content to sit around here until you die doesn’t mean I am, Caramon!”

Caramon snaps his head back like he’s been hit, stares at Raistlin with a hurt expression that’s all too familiar. 

“Oh, for the love of god,” Kit says. She stands up from the table. “Can we just get out of here, please? I’m gonna go load up the truck.”

“Fine,” Raistlin says. “I’ll get my bag.” Caramon is still looking at him, but Raistlin ducks his gaze as he stands and heads for the door.

“Caramon, get ready for practice!” Kit shouts from the hallway. 

Raistlin grabs the suitcase from their room and rushes out to the truck before Caramon even makes his way out of the kitchen; the effort winds him and he has to spend a minute leaning against the cool metal of the truck bed before he regains his breath. 

Kit is the next to arrive; Raistlin is glad that he won’t have to be alone with Caramon. He doesn’t regret what he said - sooner or later, Caramon will have to get used to the idea of Raistlin leaving Solace for good. However, he knows that Caramon is already upset about him leaving on this trip, that the barb will hurt all the more in Raistlin’s absence. 

Raistlin sighs as Caramon walks out the front door. He has a long trip ahead of him; there’s no time to deal with his brother’s feelings. 

They all pile into the car, Caramon claiming the window seat this time. Raistlin sits hunched in the middle, staring fixedly ahead at the console. 

Perhaps in recognition of the tense atmosphere, Kit keeps the stereo off for once and indulges Caramon in some inane football chatter as they drive to the practice field. When they pull up, Caramon hesitates before getting out of the truck.

“Uh…I guess I’ll see you guys next weekend,” he says, turning toward his siblings. 

“See ya,” Kit says, barely interested. Raistlin nods.

Caramon places a heavy hand on his brother’s shoulder. Raistlin stiffens. “Have fun at MIT, Raist,” Caramon says miserably. “I’ll get your homework for you.”

Raistlin sighs and finally looks up to meet Caramon’s gaze. “Goodbye,” he says. Taking pity, he adds: “I’ll text you from the road.”

“Okay, Raist!” Caramon says, suddenly much brighter. He looks behind him, to where the rest of the Solace High football team has already assembled in the center of the field. “I gotta go - bye, guys!”

With that, he hops out of the truck and runs to join the team, his gym bag bobbing behind him like a red pennant against the gray morning.

Kit reaches forward to hit the power button on the stereo, and Raistlin is immediately half-deafened by the opening drums of “Born To Run.” 

“All right!” Kit yells at him over the music as they peel out of the parking lot. “This road trip starts now!” She grabs her sunglasses from the dashboard and jams them onto her nose one-handed, even though the day is still rainy and dim.

Raistlin stares silently out the passenger window, gritting his teeth as the music blares. 

At least one of us is having fun, he thinks, as they speed down the highway and leave Solace behind.

\---

Somehow, Raistlin spends the first three hours of the trip asleep. Kitiara may not great at navigating the small, twisty streets of Solace with the truck, but she’s clearly in her element on the empty interstate. Raistlin has braced himself for the ride to be torture, of course, but Kit doesn’t seem that interested in chatting and the steady motion of the truck is enough to make him drowsy. Even the constant blare of Springsteen’s greatest hits starts to feel like a lullaby. 

Around 11:30, he is shaken awake by Kit. He sits up and looks around. They’ve stopped moving - the truck is parked in front of a rest stop. 

“Where are we?” he asks, rubbing his eyes. His neck and shoulders ache from sleeping upright, and there’s a stale, unpleasant taste in his mouth.

“Somewhere in Idaho,” Kit says. She climbs out of the truck and slams the door; Raistlin can see her stretching the kinks out of her back in his peripheral vision. 

He looks around again, this time with more interest. He’s never been to Idaho - in fact, with the exception of a middle school class trip to Seattle, he’s rarely left Solace. 

The Idaho interstate, as it turns out, looks a lot like the Oregon interstate. The people he sees entering and exiting the rest stop are, for the most part, bland and white and boring, families and couples and loud blond children. The car parked opposite them has a Hawaii license plate, and Raistlin wonders for a moment how it managed to get all the way up to Idaho. 

“Are you coming?” Kit yells to him, muffled, and Raistlin hops down out of the truck. 

He crosses around the back of the truck and speeds up to join Kit, who has already started walking toward the rest stop. “Why are we stopped?” he asks.

“I gotta piss,” Kit says. 

“Charming,” he replies, curling his lip in disgust. 

She ignores him. “I figured we might as well grab lunch while we’re here.” She fishes a crumpled 20-dollar bill out of the pocket of her jeans and hands it to Raistlin. “Get what you want, I’ll meet you in the food court in a few.”

She pushes through the glass doors of the rest stop and veers off toward the women’s bathrooms, leaving him in the entryway. He is immediately confronted by a large group of people wearing matching lime green “CARSON FAMILY REUNION” t-shirts, and steps out of their path just in time to avoid a trampling.

Raistlin hasn’t been in a rest stop since he was twelve, but it seems like the general idea hasn’t changed much: it’s a big, bright building with ugly tiling and a pervasive fast-food scent. 

He’s sensible enough to follow Kit’s example and head to the bathroom, for which there is thankfully no line. 

When he’s done there, he heads out to the food court and buys himself a limp Roy Rogers cheeseburger and fries, and fills a soda cup with water. He sits down in a booth to wait for Kit.

She shows up with a comically large cup of coffee and a Cinnabon in tow, and Raistlin watches in horrified fascination as she devours the thing in four bites, washing each one down with a gulp of coffee. It reminds him of Caramon, although Caramon has never eaten with such a look of grim concentration on his face.

Kit swipes the back of her hand across her mouth and points her chin at Raistlin’s tray. “You done?” she asks. He’s eaten maybe two bites of the burger and six fries, but he can’t imagine wanting any more, so he nods and gets up from the booth. 

As he makes his way to the trash cans, he wonders if Kit is being deliberately untalkative for his benefit, or if she’s always like this on a job. He appreciates the lack of chatter, but he’s unnerved by this side of Kit. His sister is crude and charismatic, a delinquent loudmouth with a mockingbird laugh. This version of her - quiet, focused, more serious than he’s ever seen her - feels wrong. Maybe dangerous. 

He follows her back out to the truck, and feels a strange sense of reassurance when she starts the music blaring again. They buckle in and Kit swings out of the lot, cruising past a truck weighing station and back out onto the interstate. 

“I figure we’ll stop for the night when we hit Wyoming,” she says. “Should be about ten hours.”

That sounds like an impossible amount of time to Raistlin, but he’s still feeling wary enough to not protest. “Okay,” he says. He looks over at Kit. She’s staring straight ahead, eyes hidden behind her sunglasses. She doesn’t say anything else.

Raistlin bends down and grabs his backpack off the floor of the truck. He’s packed plenty of books for the trip, enough to make the backpack heavier than he can comfortably lift. He pulls out his physics textbook - everything in there is embarrassingly elementary, for the most part, but there are some principles in the last chapter that he’s been trying to work through for a while. 

Ten hours. He hopes he doesn’t get carsick.


End file.
